The Insanity Drabbles
by 570l3Nxh34r7
Summary: He ran as if he were chased by mutant bunny rabbits, by a hoard of sweetlobbing Snapes, or by a mantra shouting, totempole touting Trelawney. Drabbles written in insanity. All pairings for convenience. Chp 2: half toad half treacle tart
1. Relationships are so Ugh

**Today, I'm insane. Which is why I'm writing drabbles. Yay go me! **

**This one is based on an AIM conversation I had with one of my weirder friends the other day. We were discussing his "crush" and my boyfriend. And it turned out very, VERY strange. So… I'm going to change it a _bit_ so the roles fit.**

**So the pairings must be…. Harry/Lavender and George/Hermione**

**Yeah don't kill me please!! T.T it's the only way I can think of to make the plot fit!! (( ookay bye. **

**And the characters are going to be VERYY OOC. (**

**Yeah. This is going to be insanity plus fluff. So be prepared.**

* * *

The Thing About Insanity

I: **Relationships are so… ugh.**

It was really dark. Like, really, really, really dark. So dark that even Harry's jet black hair melted into the night… even if his hair did look like a black hole in the star-filled sky. The moon glinted off his glasses as Harry turned around and asked Hermione, "D'you think she'll ever go for me?"

"Who? You mean Lavender?" Hermione was trying to be patient but her voice betrayed her edginess. Already that night, Harry had brought up Lavender more than fifteen times. Hermione wondered how she could have kept track, and then returned her attention to Harry.

"No, the random weed I fell madly in love with in Herbology yesterday, when it tried to attack me. Yes, Hermione, I mean Lavender."

"I wouldn't know, Harry." _The same answer I gave you every _other _time you asked._ Hermione groaned in her brain. She had her own problems to deal with. "Harry, do you think I love George?"

Harry choked on his Butterbeer, which, until that moment, he didn't know he had been drinking. "If it's not love, its obsession, Mione. You've been checking your watch every two seconds."

Hermione thought about it, and realized that Harry's conjecture was rational. She had been checking her watch every two seconds. Although, logically, her watch shouldn't have been working. She checked it again. 9:29:58 PM. The neon Nemos fluttered happily around the hour and minute hands. The next time she checked it it'd be time- no.. still 9:29:58.

Harry quirked his eyebrow at Hermione. "You've been checking that watch since we got here. We got here at 9:25… and we've been sitting here for three hours. He's not going to show up."

Biting her lip fiercely, Hermione growled, "Yes he will. If my watch has moved 00:04:58 since we got here, then time must be moving very, _very_ slowly. It's not 9:30 yet, so be patient."

"Hermione, why am I even here? This is supposed to be _your _rendezvous with George. Why the hell did you bring me along?" Harry wanted to go back to his dorm, where he could fantasize about Lavender alone.

"The author needed us to talk about something."

"Ah. I see."

The two went back to twiddling their thumbs. In exactly 00:00:02, Filch would be barging up and insisting they went back to their dormitories.

"What did she—"

"I don't know." Hermione snapped.

"Okay."

They went back to twiddling their thumbs, and Hermione started cursing at her watch for apparently being stuck on 09:28:58.

Five minutes later (according to Hermione's watch, it was still… uh… 09:28:58), Harry turned around again to find Hermione grasping her watch in a chokehold and preparing to pelt it off the side of the astronomy tower.

Harry yelped and pulled Hermione back. "You really should stop checking your watch." Harry yelled. "Focus on something else. Focus on me." Harry said, grabbing Hermione's face and focusing his eyes on hers.

Somewhere, an invisible crowd awwwwwed.

Hermione gurgled, and Harry loosened the pressure he was putting on her cheeks. "Harry, you're smushing my face."

Harry let go as if Hermione's cheeks had burnt his hand. "Sorry," he muttered.

Hermione checked her watch again. "ARGG!!" She screamed, "I really have got to stop checking my watch."

Harry smiled in an abnormally sappy manner. "We can go insane together."

Hermione grinned. "Right. You can chant, _Lavenderrrrr _loudly while I run around screaming, _FREAKING GEORGEEE!!_"

Harry paused a second and frowned. "Not the flower."

"No, not the flower." Hermione tilted her head to the side and leered at Harry. "And you know which George I'm referring to?"

"Washington?" Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione grimaced. "No, Curious George."

Harry lit up. "Oh OH!!! It's the monkey with the floppy yellow hat!! HOW CUTEEE!!!"

Hermione didn't notice Harry's OOC outburst because a cartoon monkey had suddenly appeared, and she was too busy chasing it around and trying to steal its hat. "IMA EATCHOO!!!!" Hermione screamed, lunging at the monkey, who artfully dodged her grasp by leaping onto a batch of balloons and floating away.

Harry, who was now perched on a telescope, looked at Hermione, aghast.

"I'm going insaneeee." Hermione started banging her head on the wall.

"So… to keep your precious George with you forever you're going to… ingest him?" Harry was appalled, yet strangely interested. "Bloody hell that's like some bad Greek myth."

Hermione chuckled, blood dripping down her forehead. "Right. So like some bad Greek myth, I'm going to stare at him with my smouldering Medusa eyes." She grinned. "And I'm going to turn him into a statue, and stick him on the wall… in my bathroom." Hermione had no idea where the last part came from, but she said it nonetheless.

Harry grimaced. "That's scary. You come out of your shower and WHABAM! There's a guy there."

Hermione laughed. "Seems like a nice place to put a statue. Maybe it'll be like one of those sets of armor they have mounted in the hall and sing to me."

Harry fell off the telescope, frothing at the mouth and gurgling a song that sounded suspiciously like Sexy Back. "I'm bringing…. -gurgle- sexyback -froth- You see these -bubble- shackles baby I'll be your -foam- slave…"

Hermione grimaced at the horrible screechiness of Harry's singing, and said thoughtfully, "You know, if there were actually a statue there, I'd probably jump back into the shower and scream." Then, realizing Harry had made a mistake, she jumped up and pointed a quivering finger at Harry's frothing, twitching body. "The statue! It's a MONKEY! Not a BOY!"

Harry bubbled happily, and Hermione suddenly developed psychic powers. Investigating Harry's mind, she found a curious blank, and a few images of an asexual Hermione stepping out of a shower, seeing a leering statue of a giant monkey, and screaming, running around trailing the towel with the monkey lumbering heavily after her, a lusty grin chiseled into its crude albeit extremely cute features. The filmstrip-like thought-process continued, and Hermione watched her own progressing with a morbid fascination. Suddenly, the thoughts took a more explicit turn, and Hermione shook her head furiously, and realized that she, in fact, didn't have psychic powers and was merely being cursed by her own imagination. "Bad images! Bad Images!!!!" She screeched, leaping around as if a huge stone monkey were on her trail.

The froth from Harry's mouth had made a pool of his gaping mouth, where several extremely small sprites were now bathing. The foamy bubbles spilled over and began to drip down Harry's face, and the cold liquid woke Harry from his stupor. "Wow. Your fantasies are worse than mine," he exclaimed brightly.

Hermione froze midleap, and fell to the ground in an awkwardly positioned spread eagle. "You fantasize?" Hermione had momentary images of fluffy rabbits running around with pink lusty hearts after stuffed green dinosaurs.

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "WHAT'S THE BUNNY WABBIT DOING TO THE DINOSAUR!!!" He covered his eyes and whimpered. In my happy Harry-esque fantasy, the rabbit started doing mad pelvic thrusts while the dinosaur jumped up and did a happy dance with a strawberry. Somewhere in my mind, someone was screaming, "HARD GAYY!!! FOOOOOO!" (A/N if you've ever youtubed hard gay, you'd know exactly what I'm talking about. Er.. sorta)

Recovering from his temporary trauma, Harry opened his eyes just long enough to say, "At least my incessant references to a _certain_ flower are more innocent."

Hermione's mouth opened in protest. "And my references to a certain monkey are not?"

"No! Not when you want to _eat_ him and then turn him into a … a… gargoyle!"

"He's not a gargoyle! Gargoyles are used as drains for rooftop water!"

"You want to put him in your _bathroom_!"

"Okay. Lets just pretend I said hall or something, okay?" Hermione's hands raised in resignation.

Harry continued his ranting, ignoring Hermione. "And one night, you decide you're thirsty so you get up and walk to the kitchen and you see this form at the end. You try to run past it but you trip on the arm and it falls down on you."

Hermione's mouth opened again, and she wondered how she would trip on Curious George's arm. She wasn't THAT short…

Harry continued. "And next thing you know, the headlines of the Daily Prophet will say, "Obsessive girlfriend squished by stone boyfriend"."

Hermione opened her mouth. She does that quite a lot. "IT'S A MONKEY! Not a boy!"

Finally acknowledging Hermione, Harry stuck out his tongue. "Okay then. Squished by stone monkey-friend."

Hermione smiled sappily. "Okay. That works." She opened her mouth again.

The author became annoyed of Hermione's incessant mouth-opening, and slapped a huge yellow bumper sticker on top of Hermione's lips.

"Mrfffffff frmmmmmmm morrrrrrllllllllllllllrrrrrrrrrrffffff" Hermione mumbled, her lips refusing to detach from the adhesive.

"Sorry Herms, I didn't catch that. What did you say?"

Hermione shut her mouth tightly, and the sticker disappeared. "I said, this happened to me last year, and I took a very nice picture."

Harry frowned, trying to imagine. "I don't think I would have liked it."

"Why not?" Hermione exclaimed, offended.

"Because theres a yellow thing… stuck… to your face…"

Hermione felt slightly affronted. She had liked the sticker! "Hey, maybe I _like_ having pee-colored stickers slapped to my face!"

Harry shrugged, then grinned suggestively. "Maybe it was deemed that your face is too pretty for public view and had to be censored for the public's sanities."

Hermione smiled at Harry's lame flattery, then frowned, thinking of George's reaction to their aimless flirting. A giant monkey popped to mind. The author threw a banana at Hermione.

Harry leaned over, his mouth slightly open, his tongue flicking the edge of his lips.

Hermione's eyes widened, leaning back slightly to avoid being kissed.

Harry suddenly lunged at Hermione.

Hermione screamed, as Harry lunged past her and clamped his teeth down on the banana smearing into her hair.

Hermione broke into a nervous fit, because her watch still showed 09:28:58, and Harry was now sucking happily on the banana, and occasionally licking the remains of banana pulp off her hair.

Suddenly, the door to the stairs banged open, and George ran into the room. Pushing past Harry, who lost his balance and disappeared over the side of the tower, George swept Hermione into a passionate embrace.

Then, the two disappeared in a puff of pink, glittery perfume. They had completed their purpose in the chapter, and thus had disappeared to a happier land. Well… that and the author didn't want to gross the readers out with a lip smacking, stomach wrenching, passion flaming makeout session.

* * *

Lying a hundred feet below with his head somehow magically in Lavender's lap, Harry stared up at the sky. 

Lavender smiled gently down at Harry. "Look," she cooed, "an angel just fell from heaven into my lap."

Harry stood up and brushed himself off. Narrowing his eyes at Lavender, he said, "I'm itchy," and walked away.

* * *

**Okay. I know. I'm horrible. And incredibly insane. Its just… my friend and I have such interesting conversations that I can't help but share with the world. :) And for the record, my boyfriend's name IS George, although my name is not Hermione. And the name of my friend's crush, although not Lavender, is also a flower. **

**Yes. So that was me venting the stew of strangeness steaming in my brain. I hope you were a bit weirded out, and enjoyed my random spazzing just a bit. **

**And hopefully you found my random humor funny. Else, I'll have to fall out of the Astronomy tower and into some incredibly hot guy's lap.**

**x3, Princess of daemons**


	2. Why Transfiguration and Hunger are bad

**… Hopefully this is amusing for someone. Someone who is just as… or maybe even more sick minded than I am. LOLOL**

**enjoy!**

* * *

**The Case of the Half Treacle Tart, Half Toad.**

Seamus dashed towards the Great Hall, robes bouncing happily behind him, books hitting him repeatedly (and rather uncomfortably) on the arse. He ran as if he were chased by mutant bunny rabbits, by a hoard of sweet-lobbing Snapes, or by a mantra shouting, totem-pole touting Trelawney. His muscles were stretched taut and his stamina neared the breaking limit; he had to get there, or he would die trying.

It was lunch, and Seamus Finnigan was hungry.

Who could he blame? That blasted Flitwick had held him late because he had somehow managed to put a cheering charm on the class goldfish. That made absolutely no sense, since he was supposed to be casting a freezing charm. The goldfish, upon being magicked, proceeded to become so happy that it positively asphyxiated from glee. It was now floating, belly up in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, because a teary eyed Flitwick had bid Seamus to "dispose of the poor creature… I can't bear to do it myself."

The dead goldfish had flippantly refused every single toilet on every single floor. How did Seamus know? He tried them all. Even the girl's bathrooms. Flush after flush, the goldfish would repeatedly float back into the toilet bowl, even after having been vortexed down a minute pipe most likely not intended for poo.

… poor Goldfish. Its scales were looking rather worse for wear when Seamus, holding the fish gingerly by its fin (its tail had ripped from repeated picking-ups and flushings), pleaded with Myrtle to take care of it.

And now, here he was, fifty fife minutes late for the hour-long period designated for lunch. He huffed and he puffed, and he collapsed right at the door of the Great Hall, face first. He managed to lift his face (amidst sniggers from a crowd of newly bloated first years passing the door on the way out) to witness the last of the food vanishing from the tables.

"Merlin's bloody balls!" He cursed loudly, gaining five reproving stares from a five… no… six-headed merman perched jauntily on Professor Sprout's shoulder. The sixth head was too busy pulling itself out from where it had gotten tangled with Professor Sprout's flyaway hair to manage shooting its own reproving daggers at poor, starving Seamus.

"I'm hungryyyyyy!!" Seamus wailed, as the hall erupted into chaos. An army of tiny elephants had appeared to siphon the grease and owl poo off the Great Hall floor, and all of those unused to the phenomenon were screaming bloody murder and sprinting for the doors.

In the ensuing confusion, Seamus was stepped on four times, kicked three times, and was hit in the face by a plastic bag full of something cold, slimy, and round.

By god, it was labeled _Merlin's bloody balls_.

Seamus promptly fainted.

* * *

So it was no wonder Seamus trudged into Transfiguration more than a little disgruntled. Not only had he missed breakfast (he was helping a Ravenclaw sixth year pull his head out of a toilet, where an immeasurably enraged Weasley male had stuffed it upon witnessing a furious make-out session between said sixth year and the littlest Weasley), but he had missed lunch too. He had also been trampled, humiliated, and hit in the face with Merlin's balls (which, at Dumbledore's insistence, were now hanging in the trophy room with Seamus's name engraved underneath in gold,). Could the day _possibly _get any worse? 

… Apparently, it could. He was late. To _McGonagal's_ class. Which was like suicide, except more painful, and a lot less convenient. Sighing, Seamus dropped into his seat like a sack of over-ripe potatoes, blocking the sound of his assigned partner animatedly threatening to castrate Seamus and throw his part into the lake as cannon fodder for Durmstrang the next time they came for the Triwizard Tournament.

"What are we doing today?" He asked his seat partner, Dean, dully.

"We're transforming shrooms into orange rabbits the size of an orange," Dean replied brightly. His face, Seamus noticed, was slightly orange. And his shroom, which was fuming a bit ominously at the edges, was most definitely _not_.

"Uh… whats the spell?"

"I think its _Warinmango Narcotiru_. Or it could have been _Warintiru Narcomango_…."

"Or it could have been shut the hell up Dean, you're going to explode your shroom." Seamus growled, pissed that his friend was, if not more, just as unreliable as he was.

"That's pretty fair," Dean picked up his wand again, and waved it over his shroom.

Staring at the smoking fungi placed at… rather odd angles in front of him (if you looked from a 67 degree angle, they looked like they were engaged quite readily in some… rather unspeakably dirty activities), Seamus muttered, "aren't shrooms hallucinogens?"

"No idea." Dean looked up from his mushroom, which was rapidly turning neon pink. "Why are you staring at the shrooms like that? The look you're giving them is pretty… intense. Pervy, kind of. Which makes no sense, cuz you're looking at _mushrooms_."

"Shut up, Dean."

"Okay.."

* * *

McGonagall swept around most ominously, like Snape, peering over each student's shoulder to observe their work. She was wearing the most atrocious, puke colored set of knickers, _outside_ of her robes, and had a large, rather awkwardly shaped silver "S," placed rather conveniently in a diamond shaped patch of green fabric, glued to her chest. 

Seamus's eyes bugged out. "Um… professor?" He enquired.

"Don't ask, Mr. Finnigan. I lost a dare to Professor Snape."

From across the room, Harry and Ron looked up, and sniggered. Hermione raised her hand tentatively. "Um… professor?" she enquired.

McGonagall flushed, the tip of her ears so red they began to steam. "Yes, Ms. Granger, they are Professor Snape's knickers."

The entire classroom burst into laughter.

Snape chose that time to sweep in. He was wearing a white and red polka dotted, lace adorned pair of knickers over his chest (one arm was fitted through each leg hole, and the waist stretched around his back). On his head, a matching bra was strapped around his chin, its two cups forming a pair of ears. Simpering, Snape stretched out his hands, which were overflowing with Tootsie Rolls. "Chocolate, dears?"

Half the class fled the room, screaming, crying for their mothers, or in a furious search for Madam Pomfrey and anyone who were relatively competent at _Obliviate_.

Snape stared around the room sadly, his puppy eyes so disturbing Seamus nearly wanted to run himself. But he stayed. He didn't want to risk detention, and thus possibly missing dinner.

"Okay, the rest of you," McGonagall ignored the obvious snickers. "You must concentrate very hard on what your shroom will become. Any wandering thoughts will cause… rather _unexpected_ results."

Seamus was not listening.

"The spell is _Narcotitti Wangomango._" McGonagall's eyelid twitched slightly when she said it, as if she thought it was the most ridiculous excuse for a spell she had ever heard. "Please, begin."

Seamus was not listening.

Instead, he was dreaming of what the next hour would bring- Steak and Kidney pie, roasted lamb, baked potato, all dribbled over with chocolate sauce. Kippers and bacon and treacle tart—

Waving his wand dreamingly, he muttered, "_Wangingtitti Narcomango."_

There was a deafening explosion and a burst of glittery pink smoke.

"Trevor!" Squealed Neville. "Trevor is gone! WHERE'D HE GOOOOO"

The smoke cleared slightly around Seamus's feet. There laid a pair of shrooms, tangled in the most _interesting _position, where they landed when the tip of Seamus's wand had prodded them off the desk.

Neville began to shake. "Nooooo Trevor…"

The glittery smoke cleared a bit more, Seamus's manly calves, strapped into precariously pointy high heels, floated into view. Half of the remaining students fled the room in terror.

The desk was now viewable, and the only thing left obscure was Seamus's face. On the desk, next to a pair of calloused, manicured (with sea foam green nail polish) hands, was a toad.

"Trevor!" Neville uttered a thoroughly fangirl scream, and dove for the toad.

And somehow landed on Seamus's lap. The toad had disappeared.

A disappointed Neville looked up, and burst into tears.

Seamus had a full coat of makeup on. His eyes were carefully lined in kohl liner and smudged with pine green and light turquoise eyeliner. His lips were a shade of light coral, thanks to some well applied lip stain. A streak of blush curved along Seamus's well defined cheek bones and accentuated his eyes.

A single dot of red was in the middle of Seamus's forehead, and somewhere far away, Indian snake charmer music played.

Seamus's well groomed hand came into view, clutching Trevor. Seamus inspected it closely.

"Doesn't look like anything's wrong with him," he proclaimed, examining Trevor's back. He then flipped the toad unceremoniously onto its back to examine its underside. "Nope… everything's fi—"

Seamus's voice died in his throat as he saw the toad's stomach. Quickly, he shoved the toad back into Neville's hands. "Just doesn't look like there will be any baby Trevors coming along anytime… or ever." He added brightly.

Confused, Neville took a look for himself. Then, horrified, he screeched, "YOU BLOODY GIT! YOU TURNED TREVOR'S DICK INTO TREACLE!"

* * *

**Wow. I must have been really insane when I wrote this. o.o; Um.. I have no idea where the idea came from… the original reference was inside **_**Dragon Tears**_**, where I mention a half treacle tart, half toad specimen. Well I know this isn't **_**exactly**_** HALF toad… it'll do.**

**I feel much better, and less insane now. Hopefully my rambling thoughts made someone laugh.**

**Review please! D**


End file.
